


i just want to be held (by your cold hands)

by ghosthuntergay



Series: trans hardy fics [2]
Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Christmas Party, Domestic Fluff, F/F, First Kiss, Gay yearning, Sharing a Bed, Trans Female Character, Transgender Alec Hardy, al hardy is a chronic jumper thief, rated t for alcohol, theyre both drunk hardys just better at hiding it, this is very soft considering idk how to write lovey dovey shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22115002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosthuntergay/pseuds/ghosthuntergay
Summary: Ellie's found herself falling asleep during her own Christmas party, so Al offers to help her to bed.(AKA the obligatory Christmas/first kiss/oh-no-there's-only-one-bed fic)
Relationships: Alec Hardy/Ellie Miller
Series: trans hardy fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591837
Comments: 26
Kudos: 88





	i just want to be held (by your cold hands)

**Author's Note:**

> happy new year! here's a belated christmas fic  
> fair warning, it's been a while since I watched broadchurch so this may be slightly ooc? this is set a year or so after the end of my other broadchurch fic, she, but it probably makes sense without reading that first too. if you haven't, Al's mtf transgender. like last time ive written it more from ellies perspective because whilst im trans, I can't completely relate to the tranfem experience and I didn't want to act more knowledgeable than I am - that being said, this fic doesn't actually focus on Al being trans, but if anything comes across as insensitive please let me know.
> 
> also yes I'm writing a fic between these two to cover how Al chose her name and came out properly but I wanted to do something festive 
> 
> no playlist for this fic but i listened to an unhealthy amount of trixie mattel whilst writing it so. stream two birds ig. title from an ezra furman song, thought it was appropriate :)

The party is winding down - or rather, the party _should_ be winding down, but a couple of the guys from the office have just started up another round of beer pong in the kitchen, and that one song by _Slade_ has just started up again for what must be the fifth time in a row.

Ellie's slumped on the sofa with Chloe Latimer curled against her side - which is very sweet, and Ellie's sure that Beth's snapped at least a million photos of the two of them in the half an hour since Chloe dozed off. She's halfway to falling asleep herself, only the loud music still playing in the kitchen really keeping her awake. For most of the night she's been playing hostess and keeping an eye on the kids, but the boys went up to bed a few hours ago now, and Daisy's been sat at the table playing cards with a college friend she'd brought over. 

Absolved of any responsibilities, Ellie's been drinking pretty solidly since double-checking on everyone else. Beth _had_ been her beer pong partner until they'd both found standing a little too much to cope with and settled down in the living room, where a final few vodka shots had seen to Beth's downfall. Ellie glances down to where her friend is sleeping on the floor, and nudges her with her foot. _Nope, she's properly out of it,_ Ellie thinks, before looking up at where she hears a loud laugh from the table across the room.

It's Hardy, playing cards with her daughter and the friend who Ellie can't remember the name of. Ellie can't help but smile - Al had arrived an hour before everyone else to help set up, a bundle of nerves dressed in a deep red blouse and what has to be the only skirt Ellie hasn't already seen her in. She looks great; the floaty black fabric of her skirt reaches just above her ankles, and she's been swishing about it all night. (Ellie never really wears skirts like that, but it looks _fun_ and _dramatic_ in a way that five years ago she would never have associated with D.I. Hardy).

Ellie doesn't think Hardy's drunk _too_ much tonight, but she's definitely had enough that she's loosened up a little. Enough that she's sat on Ellie's dining room table, chuckling - scratch that, _giggling_ \- at a loud joke one of the boys playing beer pong just made. Al, with her clear lip gloss and pale blusher, has an infectious smile, and Ellie's still grinning to herself when the D.I. stands up and makes her way over to the sofa.

"Miller," she says, "you're _sloshed_."

"M'not," Ellie replies, even though she is, just a little bit.

"No you _are_ ," Al insists, giggling again in that way that makes Ellie need to close her eyes for a second, "c'mon, let's get you to bed."

It's this that makes Ellie suddenly remember that Al's supposed to be crashing on her sofa tonight, and she casts a mournful glance to where Chloe is sleeping next to her. There's no way she's planning to wake her up, but all the other chairs already have occupants, and suddenly Ellie's desperately worried that Al will have nowhere to sleep tonight.

It isn't until she's let Al haul her off the sofa and upstairs that she has a sudden eureka moment - they can just share _Ellie's_ bed. It takes her a moment to actually formulate this into words, so she's more just sitting on the edge of her duvet and watching the lamplight reflect off Al's hair until Hardy herself speaks up.

"Right, well. I think Daisy's gonna head back to her friends in a bit, so I'll just walk back to mine, shall I?" As per usual, Hardy's accent is more pronounced thanks to the few drinks she's had, but Ellie is more distracted by the actual suggestion of what she's saying.

"What? No, Al, I already said that you could stay here," Ellie objects immediately. "Besides, you can't walk home. You're drunk."

"Ohh, _I'm_ drunk, am I?" Al's giving her an amused look, that raised eyebrow that's become so familiar to Ellie, but she looks less likely to leave in the next thirty seconds, so that's progress.

" _Yes,_ you are," says Ellie. "And 's cold tonight, you only brought a little jacket. Just sleep here."

Al seems to mull it over for a minute, before looking back at Ellie (who by this point has shuffled her way up the bed and tucked herself under the duvet) and giving an exasperated sigh that Ellie would bet money on being completely insincere.

"Miller, you've still got your shoes on, come here," Al says. Ellie kicks her feet out of the duvet to realise that _yes_ , she does in fact still have her shoes on. She must be even drunker than she'd thought, and the idea of sleeping in her pointy suede boots makes her start laughing. Al snorts, and then laughs properly with her until Ellie's wiping tears from the corners of her eyes and then suddenly Al's unzipping her heels for her and she's not laughing anymore. Ellie holds a breath until Al's slipped both heels from her feet, and only lets it go again when she feels the D.I. looking up at her.

Ellie coughs, unable to meet her friend's eyes.

"Alright, chuck us that throw blanket then, I'll sleep down here since the sofas been stolen," Hardy finally says from where she's knelt on the floor.

"Don't be daft, Al, this _is_ a double bed," Ellie replies, her unexpected nerves at the suggestion making her hands suddenly jittery. 

She doesn't expect Hardy to cave in that easily until she hears her soft "Alright." Ellie pulls herself under the duvet again, squeezing her eyes closed again until she hears Al sliding off her own shoes, and feels her thin frame lie down on top of the duvet, about as far from Ellie as Hardy can probably get whilst still staying on the bed.

"Pillow barrier?" Hardy suggests, as though they're teenagers at a sleepover rather than grown adults. 

Ellie turns to her friend, and suddenly can't help but laugh again. "Just get under the bloody duvet, Al."

Al grumbles something that Ellie can't quite hear before sitting up and turning to look at the shorter woman. She makes a motion that once may have been a scratch at a beard, but instead her hand falls lower and she bites at the champagne-gold of her thumbnail.

 _She really does look great tonight_ , Ellie can't help but think even as she gently pulls Al's hand away from her mouth, scolds her for biting her nails as she might do with one of her boys. It's not rare these days for Hardy to dress up nice - the two of them go to enough official work things and Ellie drags her along to most of the social events she gets invited to - but there's still something nice about seeing her partner like this. The lamp in Ellie's room is more orange toned than the rest of the house and, in her Christmas colours, with her hair just reaching her shoulders where it hasn't been cut in a while, Al looks so _soft_.

It's not that she dislikes working with stone-cold D.I. Hardy, obviously. They make - as infuriating as it is to be told - an amazing team and, whilst she enjoys their lunch breaks where they can loosen up over a plate of chips, Ellie's grateful that her partner is someone like Hardy. They're not _"good cop bad cop"_ like some of the village would joke years back, because Ellie's never seen someone, albeit with a slightly questionable history, as dedicated to being _good_ than Al. But they balance each other out.

It's _not_ that she doesn't enjoy that side of Hardy - if she stopped being the grumpy D.I. tomorrow it would be a great loss, she's sure. But with Al here, cheeks flushed from wine and wrist still within Ellie's loose grip, sat with her long legs stretched out on the duvet, Ellie feels like she's being let into something secret.

"What's happened here then?" Al murmurs, and it isn't until her thumb brushes over the thick plaster on her palm that Ellie realises what she's talking about. The movement alerts her alcohol-soaked brain to the fact that she's essentially holding hands with Hardy, at this point, and she feels her own cheeks flush.

"Kitchen accident, earlier. Big knife. Not fun." She glances up at Al to see that she's pouting at her, an over-exaggerated thing that has Ellie tugging her hand back only to swat at Hardy's shoulder. 

"The great Ellie Miller, taken down by her own cooking skills," Hardy proclaims, laughing until Ellie takes the pillow from next to her and throws it, with impressive aim for the amount of shots she's done tonight, at her head. 

"The great Alexandra Hardy, taken down by a pillow," is her retort, and she hears Al snort from where she's been knocked to the other end of the bed. _Dramatic old bitch_ , Ellie thinks fondly.

Al sits up, now even further away than she'd started, her hair mussed by the pillow and her subsequent fall. "Here I thought I was taking you to bed, an' instead I get an attempt on my life," Al says, one hand on her heart and a wounded expression on her face. Ellie loves this, how comfortable Al is around her to joke like this, but Al's phrasing catches her attention, and she feels her face warm again.

"Clearly not doing a good enough job of _taking me to bed_ then, Hardy," she replies, and it's supposed to come out jokingly, but she's _drunk_ and it ends up more of a murmur than anything, and suddenly Al's face is also incredibly red.

She thinks she's fucked up for a second, but then she hears an equally gently, _"oh?"_ from her friend.

If she were sober, if it wasn't one in the morning, if they hadn't been doing this shit for years, Ellie might have left it alone. But none of these are true, and so she pushes it, this whole situation a split lip that she can't help but irritate further.

"I mean, I can hardly sleep in this, can I?" she asks, tugging at her thick knitted jumper. She's lost track of her innuendo, but that's okay because Hardy's standing up and walking over to Ellie's side of the bed. Ellie's still unsure of herself until Al stands in front of her, and Ellie has to look up to meet her eyes.

"S'pose not," is the reply she gets, and then two hands at her waist. "Need a hand?"

Ellie's lost for words for a second, aggressively nodding her head until Al sits next to her, their thighs almost touching if not the duvet still pulled over Ellie's lap. She can't help but squeeze her eyes closed again when she feels Al's cold hands at the hem of her jumper again, brushing at her hips through the fabric of her dress. She feels the wool scratch over her face as it's pulled over her head, and her hair falls awkwardly, so she has to open them again to get it all out of her eyes. When she does, Al is staring at her, the bundle of green fabric set to the other side of the mattress in favour of biting her nails _again._

Ellie moves to tug at Al's wrist again, but before she does her friend's hand falls to the collar of her dress, tracing the floral embroidery. Ellie feels her breath hitch embarrassingly.

"I like this one, 's pretty. New?" Al asks. She's being less subtle than she probably thinks she's being, her eyes keep flicking up to Ellie's mouth, and Ellie realises with a snort that Hardy's definitely less sober than she's been pretending to be. 

She opens her mouth to call Al out on it, but she gets distracted by the pretty gloss on her friend's lips, and instead what comes out is, "Are you going to kiss me?"

_Oops._

Al freezes, and Ellie instantly misses the gentle movements across her collarbone, but she's said it now, so she might as well push forward.

"Because if you are, I'd rather you get on with it, honestly." 

"M'not gonna kiss you, Miller," Al says, and Ellie feels her face fall. "You're drunk."

"Coward," Ellie says, but she's smiling again. She appreciates the sentiment. A grin forms across Al's face, too, and that's when Ellie's self-restraint breaks. She throws her bare arms around Al's shoulders and pulls the taller woman down.

It takes a fair bit of manoeuvring to get Al settled comfortably next to her under the duvet, and even then they're not as close together as Ellie would prefer. She slips one hand between them to rest her palm against Al's cheek.

"You're so warm," Al whispers, as though the temperature difference between them is some secret she's only just discovered. 

"That's because you don't know how to dress for winter," Ellie says, sticking her tongue out. Al rolls her eyes good-naturedly, and Ellie feels herself relax a little. They've known each other for so long now, she'd been worried that this would ruin their usual dynamic. _Whatever 'this' is_ , she can't help but think, _we're just laying in bed together. We've done that before._

Feeling bold, Ellie leans closer to her friend's face and presses a barely-there kiss to one of the lingering summer freckles on Al's nose. She can feel Al close her eyes, eyelashes brushing against Ellie's cheek, but by the time she's pulled away they're open again.

"What was that for?" Al asks. Ellie shrugs in reply.

"Dunno, just. You looked nice today."

Al goes slightly pink, which makes Ellie want to kiss her properly, but she doesn't. She's drunk, and if she's going to kiss Hardy she wants to remember it properly.

They lie in a comfortable silence for a while, until Al pipes up again. "Miller, did you want me to turn the lamp off, or have you developed some weird new sleeping habit?"

Ellie's eyes snap open, and Hardy's got that bloody eyebrow raised at her again. She's not gonna give her the satisfaction of a proper response, and instead she's crashing her head down on the pillow to make her point. " _Goodnight,_ Hardy," she says firmly.

She hears Al chuckle at her, and then the lamp switch clicking. And then, very softly, "Goodnight, Ellie."

* * *

She wakes up a headache. She's warm, likely due to the number of Al's limbs currently entangled with her own. One sharp knee is slotted firmly between Ellie's own bent legs, and she realises she's got an arm wrapped around Al's slim waist, holding her close. It's nice.

Al's still asleep, for now, and Ellie watches her for a moment. The D.I. is still terrible at looking after herself, she's not changed all that much over the years, and it's nice to see her gets some real rest. Still, the time on the clock is telling Ellie she needs to get up and make the boys breakfast soon, so she gently cards her fingers through Al's thin fringe until her eyelids flutter open.

"Hi," she says, unsure of what else to say.

"Morning," Al replies softly. "How's your head?"

"Terrible," Ellie says, smiling despite herself. "Yours?"

"Not too bad. Some tea would be nice."

It's painfully domestic, waking up on Christmas Eve with Al in her bed. They've spent the night with each other hundreds of times, but this is different to crashing on each other's sofas after a film. Ellie sits up, grimacing at the feeling of sweat built up under last night's clothes, and Al does the same. It's cold in the room, without shared body heat and a duvet to keep them warm, and Al picks up Ellie's discarded jumper from the night before to slip on over her shirt. The colours clash, and it's slightly too short in the sleeves, but the sight of it makes Ellie's heart jolt in the way she's become accustomed to around Hardy.

"You're trying to get the rumour mill starting, there's probably a couple of people still sleeping down there," Ellie jokes, nodding her head in the vague direction of the living room.

"Not really much to gossip about, though," Al says, throwing Ellie's long dressing gown to her from where it was hung up on the back of the door.

"Suppose not." She thinks briefly back to their fuzzy conversation from the night before. "Still up for that kiss though, if you want to give them something to _actually_ talk about. I'm not drunk anymore, am I?"

Al looks a little stunned, and Ellie thinks she might have overstepped, but then she's nodding. "Yeah, I. Okay. Yeah."

Ellie falters herself then, a little unsure how to proceed, but she steps forward and wraps her arms around Al's shoulders, pulls her down again like she did last night, and then she's _finally_ kissing her. Al tastes of last night's booze, and Ellie's certain she tastes even worse but. It's nice. It's _really_ nice, actually, and she kind of regrets that she hadn't grown some balls and done this earlier, and Al's hands are cold against her hips but they're _there_ and it's so, _so_ nice.

They break apart after a moment, and Al grins at her before burying her face in Ellie's hair. Ellie's own hands slip down so they're resting on the hem of Al's skirt, but then she hears a noise from Freddie's room and is reminded that she can't just stand here holding Al forever. _Doesn't sound too bad though, really._

"Still want that tea?" Ellie asks, softly. Al hums into her hair, before pulling away. "Come on then, you know where the kettle is."

Al rolls her eyes at her, and allows herself to be pulled downstairs, her cold hand clasped in Ellie's warm one.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on tumblr (@ tenement-funsters) and twitter (@ caeejones) or on my art instagram (@ caelan.draws) if you're into that


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